Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Author's note: When the story says "man" it means male; "Man" means human.
Agent Daidouji: Well, then, it's a good thing this one came along! Don't worry, this one may take a while but I aim to finish it.
Stearchica: Thanks. They were supposed to act more like on entity than like two, knowing each other's movements and simply accepting them.
*****
Lady Celebrían could feel her dress tear, and she was almost glad. All that remained of it was drenched with her blood and sweat, and rubbed uncomfortably against her skin. Less than a second after the tear of fabric came a far more painful tearing; that of the Lady's flesh. She felt her muscles spasm, her back afire with pain, thick blood oozing over her skin. She felt the leather whip removed from her back, and heard the cruel laughter of the Orcs about her, but kept her eyes shut tightly.
As the whip fell again with a deafening crack, it was all Lady Celebrían could do to keep from screaming. She let her mind go. . .
~* Sunlight pours, hardly filtered, through the leaves, to the ground of fair Lothlorien forest. Illuminated, shining particles dance lazily ground- ward, encountering nearer the forest floor softly rising notes of a very pretty song, sung by a very pretty young woman. Her blonde locks caress her round face; cherry lips and creamy skin. She leans against the tree trunk, sitting on the leaf-covered earth, a bit of white cloth in one hand, thread and a needle in the other. As she embroiders a red rose on the cloth she sings her song, the notes loosing themselves from her mouth and taking lives of their own. Though she is fully grown, she appears to have the innocence of a child, and certainly the euphoria of one.
A raven-haired, grey-eyed man approaches the woman on horseback, but he is quiet, not wanting to break her song. He sees of her only raiment of white and a curtain of winding flaxen hair; her hands at work. By her posture he knows her legs are tucked beneath her. He stops, entranced, very much hoping that she will finish her song before noticing him, as she obviously has not yet. At one line, something about the bluebird, she turns her face skyward, and looks, as though to the heavens for an answer. She seems to recall her song, turns her face back to her work and continues her song.
After many minutes, the man begins to feel that he is trespassing somewhere forbidden to him, and on something quite private. Though the woman sings on, remaining oblivious, the man forces himself to interrupt her, clearing his throat and saying, "Excuse me--"
She turns to face him, and for the first time he sees her fully. They gasp, she because she thinks he must have been waiting and, so absorbed in her own world, she did not hear him; he, because she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. "Oh, dear," she says, as he is still without words, gathering her things into a small bag and standing, brushing the dirt and leaves from her skirts. "I am sorry, I have been terribly rude, but I did not hear you. . .you wished something of me?"
"Yes," he breathes. "I--I--" He shakes his head, hard, and says, "Excuse me, but I am looking for the Lady Galadriel, do you know her?"
"I do," replies the young woman. "Do you seek her? Come, follow me and I will take you to her." Celebrían takes the reins of the young man's horse and leads the two of them--horse and rider--to the stables, where she hands off the reins to a stablehand and tells the rider, "We must go on foot from here." She offers him her hand, and can hardly help but notices that he shakes at her touch. "Are you cold, lord?" she asks.
"No, lady," he says, not daring to say more, for already he knows that he is in love with this woman, that none shall measure up to her in his eyes. He dares not say more, for fear that these truths find his tongue. He does not want her to laugh at him, for he fears her rejection would break his heart. *~
*****
Elrond glanced up at the sun approaching the horizon. The hours seemed to be slipping like sand through his fingers, and with them his beloved Celebrían. The glare burned him, and he closed his eyes, only to see her face in front of him. He wondered if Celebrían was still alive, then quickly banished that thought, deciding that she was. If it was the very least he could do for her, he would be by her side as she went, holding her hand and comforting her.
~* "Elwing, there is no need for this!"
Elrond shivers terribly at the voice. He can see neither the speaker nor his mother. Is she all right? Have they hurt her? He wants to protect her, but knows that he cannot, that he is only a child, small and hardly able to wield a sword against his brother, let alone against these sons of Feanor. He hides his face in his hands, ashamed and afraid, for he can do nothing from the latter bringing upon him the former. Cold stone meets the body of the boy, and he hazards a glance upwards.
The crates and bags behind which the boys hide are still just as Elrond remembered them, hiding the two from the attackers, and from the view of their mother. She threw them back there when she heard the knocking at the door. "Watch out for your brother, my son," she said to them both, kissing their brows before hiding them safely behind the crates. At first they both saw what they could; their mother, Elwing, a beauty of Elves, raven hair swept by wind and worry against her white dress. But she shifted, and all they could see was her feet, and then with a great noise the door burst, and Elrond cried out, but Elros clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Mama!" Elrond cried through Elros's hand.
"Be quiet!" Elros hissed, harsh and low. "Do not disgrace mother by revealing us both, do you understand?" Elrond could only nod, and Elros drew his hand away, gently positioned his brother against the wall, and returned to the crates to watch.
Now, as Elrond looks up, he sees only crates, bags, and his brother's back. Elros has his hair tied back in one tail, and his hands hold tightly to the crates. He does not shake as Elrond does, but his knuckles are white. Is he afraid, Elrond wonders, or is his angry? He looks furious, ready to jump out and kill those men who assail his mother, but as her wishes will not allow this Elros stays himself. Elrond knows now that he must make a decision. Will he watch, and see what happens, know for sure, or will he condemn himself to an attempted ignorance while he cannot shut out the sounds? His heart pounds against his ribs, and with a small gasp he crawls over, kneeling beside Elros.
There are two of them. Elwing stands on the windowsill, looking out at the sea. She turns her face back, and it is streaked with tears. Elros and Elrond cannot see the faces of the men, but their backs; heavy boots, rough tunics and breeches, one with his chestnut hair bouncing in thick locks just below his shoulders, the other with his hair plaited, running down to the small of his back. They both hold swords. "Elwing, just come back into the chamber and give us the Silmaril. No jewel is worth your life. We promise you freedom, and your family--"
"My family? Speak not of them, for you are their murderers! What of Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, and my parents Dior and Nimloth? You killed them without a second thought, I know it for I saw it happen! You will not take me the same way. I have no family left." And then she challenges them, "Barter with me now, you keepers of nothing."
Tears are streaming down Elrond's cheeks, though he is silent. Has his mother given him and Elros up, truly? Elros knows his brother is crying, and without a sound puts one arm around Elrond's shoulders, pulling him closer to him. Elrond buries his face in Elros's tunic, and Elros, defiantly courageous, shifts Elrond so that he may watch. He sees what Elrond does not, what he will later speak of only because his brother asks it of him: he sees the men advance, and he sees Elwing his mother hold the Silmaril to her breast, turn back to the sea, and leap out into the openness. Elros sees his mother's skirts flutter about her legs, her hair fly upwards as her body falls down, and he nearly, just nearly cries out, but bites his lip. As the men scream he dares a quiet moan.
"Elros, what--" Elrond begins to ask, but Elros presses a hand to his brother's mouth. Curious, Elrond dares a peek at the window. He sees the sea, and he sees a white bird flying over it, glimmering, and nothing more. Where is Mama, he wonders, but dares not ask. Neither of the brothers risk another glance out from their hiding place; instead they hold each other and keep each other quiet, waiting. After what seems like hours, Elros motions for silence and ventures a look through a slit in the crates. It is no use. He searches for another opening and causes only the tiniest noise.
There are heavy footfalls and a face appears, briefly, above the twins, then is gone. "Maglor!" calls the face, Meadhros. "Maglor, you had better come and see this."
"What is it, Meadhros?"
"Look. It is the sons of Elwing." *~
*****
"Arwen? Are you all right?"
She looked up to see Glorfindel standing over her shoulder, looking worried. It was very late, and Arwen had not left the hearth for many hours. Her cheeks were bright red and boiling to the touch. She had neither eaten nor had anything to drink in quite a long while. It took all her will to nod, and say, "I am all right, Glorfindel, thank you."
"I do not think you are, if I may say so," he replied, taking a seat beside her. "What are you thinking about?"
"About my mother," Arwen said in a hollow voice, "and the first time I was without her."
~* Arwen jumps from branch to branch, trailing her friend Jorion, chasing after him. She giggles as he manages to stay always just out of her reach. As they come upon their homes, Arwen sees Celebrían mount her horse. "Mother!" she cries, jumping down from her high perch and leaving Jorion on his own. She rolls a bit, picking herself up and running to her mother. "Are you going riding? Where are you going? May I go with you?" she demands, firing off one question as soon as the last is out of her mouth.
"Slow down, Arwen," Celebrían says, amused. She lifts Arwen into her lap for a moment. "No, you cannot come, I am going to visit my mother in Lothlorien and you are much too small for the journey. We shall see each other again when I return, and it will not be long, I promise. Ada and I told you about this, remember, two weeks ago?"
Arwen thinks back. She does remember, vaguely, her mother and father saying something to her at supper one evening, but she only replied as she thought was fit; she was not truly listening to them. Now she wishes she had been; she throws her arms around her mother and cries out, "Please, Mother, don't go, I promise to be very, very good if you stay!"
"Arwen!" Celebrían exclaims. "I am coming back, child, I will only be gone for two months!"
"That's practically for ever, please let me go with you, or better, you could stay here!"
"Please, Arwen, I must go to my mother, but I cannot go if I know you are in such a state. Will you be all right here?"
Arwen understands, on some level, that her mother has to go, and that she is being inconvenient in holding her up. It is not a neglectful sort of thing that Celebrían does, but she cannot be expected to remain in Imladris all her life with her parents else, and it has been many years since she last saw the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. "Yes, Mother," Arwen promises, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.
"Good. Fare well, then." Celebrían hugs her daughter fiercely.
"Namaarie, Mother," Arwen says, returning the hug. When Celebrían draws back, she sets Arwen on the ground with one final kiss, and is off.
Elladan and Elrohir pull Arwen off Jorion ten minutes later, as she tries to beat him up, fists flying. "I only tried to be nice," he says, straightening his tunic. "I only meant well, see if I ever speak to you again!" And he strides off.
"What happened, Arwen?" Elladan asked.
She turned slowly to face him, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and shouted, "I want my mother!" *~
*****
TBC
Author's note: When the story says "man" it means male; "Man" means human.
Agent Daidouji: Well, then, it's a good thing this one came along! Don't worry, this one may take a while but I aim to finish it.
Stearchica: Thanks. They were supposed to act more like on entity than like two, knowing each other's movements and simply accepting them.
*****
Lady Celebrían could feel her dress tear, and she was almost glad. All that remained of it was drenched with her blood and sweat, and rubbed uncomfortably against her skin. Less than a second after the tear of fabric came a far more painful tearing; that of the Lady's flesh. She felt her muscles spasm, her back afire with pain, thick blood oozing over her skin. She felt the leather whip removed from her back, and heard the cruel laughter of the Orcs about her, but kept her eyes shut tightly.
As the whip fell again with a deafening crack, it was all Lady Celebrían could do to keep from screaming. She let her mind go. . .
~* Sunlight pours, hardly filtered, through the leaves, to the ground of fair Lothlorien forest. Illuminated, shining particles dance lazily ground- ward, encountering nearer the forest floor softly rising notes of a very pretty song, sung by a very pretty young woman. Her blonde locks caress her round face; cherry lips and creamy skin. She leans against the tree trunk, sitting on the leaf-covered earth, a bit of white cloth in one hand, thread and a needle in the other. As she embroiders a red rose on the cloth she sings her song, the notes loosing themselves from her mouth and taking lives of their own. Though she is fully grown, she appears to have the innocence of a child, and certainly the euphoria of one.
A raven-haired, grey-eyed man approaches the woman on horseback, but he is quiet, not wanting to break her song. He sees of her only raiment of white and a curtain of winding flaxen hair; her hands at work. By her posture he knows her legs are tucked beneath her. He stops, entranced, very much hoping that she will finish her song before noticing him, as she obviously has not yet. At one line, something about the bluebird, she turns her face skyward, and looks, as though to the heavens for an answer. She seems to recall her song, turns her face back to her work and continues her song.
After many minutes, the man begins to feel that he is trespassing somewhere forbidden to him, and on something quite private. Though the woman sings on, remaining oblivious, the man forces himself to interrupt her, clearing his throat and saying, "Excuse me--"
She turns to face him, and for the first time he sees her fully. They gasp, she because she thinks he must have been waiting and, so absorbed in her own world, she did not hear him; he, because she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. "Oh, dear," she says, as he is still without words, gathering her things into a small bag and standing, brushing the dirt and leaves from her skirts. "I am sorry, I have been terribly rude, but I did not hear you. . .you wished something of me?"
"Yes," he breathes. "I--I--" He shakes his head, hard, and says, "Excuse me, but I am looking for the Lady Galadriel, do you know her?"
"I do," replies the young woman. "Do you seek her? Come, follow me and I will take you to her." Celebrían takes the reins of the young man's horse and leads the two of them--horse and rider--to the stables, where she hands off the reins to a stablehand and tells the rider, "We must go on foot from here." She offers him her hand, and can hardly help but notices that he shakes at her touch. "Are you cold, lord?" she asks.
"No, lady," he says, not daring to say more, for already he knows that he is in love with this woman, that none shall measure up to her in his eyes. He dares not say more, for fear that these truths find his tongue. He does not want her to laugh at him, for he fears her rejection would break his heart. *~
*****
Elrond glanced up at the sun approaching the horizon. The hours seemed to be slipping like sand through his fingers, and with them his beloved Celebrían. The glare burned him, and he closed his eyes, only to see her face in front of him. He wondered if Celebrían was still alive, then quickly banished that thought, deciding that she was. If it was the very least he could do for her, he would be by her side as she went, holding her hand and comforting her.
~* "Elwing, there is no need for this!"
Elrond shivers terribly at the voice. He can see neither the speaker nor his mother. Is she all right? Have they hurt her? He wants to protect her, but knows that he cannot, that he is only a child, small and hardly able to wield a sword against his brother, let alone against these sons of Feanor. He hides his face in his hands, ashamed and afraid, for he can do nothing from the latter bringing upon him the former. Cold stone meets the body of the boy, and he hazards a glance upwards.
The crates and bags behind which the boys hide are still just as Elrond remembered them, hiding the two from the attackers, and from the view of their mother. She threw them back there when she heard the knocking at the door. "Watch out for your brother, my son," she said to them both, kissing their brows before hiding them safely behind the crates. At first they both saw what they could; their mother, Elwing, a beauty of Elves, raven hair swept by wind and worry against her white dress. But she shifted, and all they could see was her feet, and then with a great noise the door burst, and Elrond cried out, but Elros clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Mama!" Elrond cried through Elros's hand.
"Be quiet!" Elros hissed, harsh and low. "Do not disgrace mother by revealing us both, do you understand?" Elrond could only nod, and Elros drew his hand away, gently positioned his brother against the wall, and returned to the crates to watch.
Now, as Elrond looks up, he sees only crates, bags, and his brother's back. Elros has his hair tied back in one tail, and his hands hold tightly to the crates. He does not shake as Elrond does, but his knuckles are white. Is he afraid, Elrond wonders, or is his angry? He looks furious, ready to jump out and kill those men who assail his mother, but as her wishes will not allow this Elros stays himself. Elrond knows now that he must make a decision. Will he watch, and see what happens, know for sure, or will he condemn himself to an attempted ignorance while he cannot shut out the sounds? His heart pounds against his ribs, and with a small gasp he crawls over, kneeling beside Elros.
There are two of them. Elwing stands on the windowsill, looking out at the sea. She turns her face back, and it is streaked with tears. Elros and Elrond cannot see the faces of the men, but their backs; heavy boots, rough tunics and breeches, one with his chestnut hair bouncing in thick locks just below his shoulders, the other with his hair plaited, running down to the small of his back. They both hold swords. "Elwing, just come back into the chamber and give us the Silmaril. No jewel is worth your life. We promise you freedom, and your family--"
"My family? Speak not of them, for you are their murderers! What of Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, and my parents Dior and Nimloth? You killed them without a second thought, I know it for I saw it happen! You will not take me the same way. I have no family left." And then she challenges them, "Barter with me now, you keepers of nothing."
Tears are streaming down Elrond's cheeks, though he is silent. Has his mother given him and Elros up, truly? Elros knows his brother is crying, and without a sound puts one arm around Elrond's shoulders, pulling him closer to him. Elrond buries his face in Elros's tunic, and Elros, defiantly courageous, shifts Elrond so that he may watch. He sees what Elrond does not, what he will later speak of only because his brother asks it of him: he sees the men advance, and he sees Elwing his mother hold the Silmaril to her breast, turn back to the sea, and leap out into the openness. Elros sees his mother's skirts flutter about her legs, her hair fly upwards as her body falls down, and he nearly, just nearly cries out, but bites his lip. As the men scream he dares a quiet moan.
"Elros, what--" Elrond begins to ask, but Elros presses a hand to his brother's mouth. Curious, Elrond dares a peek at the window. He sees the sea, and he sees a white bird flying over it, glimmering, and nothing more. Where is Mama, he wonders, but dares not ask. Neither of the brothers risk another glance out from their hiding place; instead they hold each other and keep each other quiet, waiting. After what seems like hours, Elros motions for silence and ventures a look through a slit in the crates. It is no use. He searches for another opening and causes only the tiniest noise.
There are heavy footfalls and a face appears, briefly, above the twins, then is gone. "Maglor!" calls the face, Meadhros. "Maglor, you had better come and see this."
"What is it, Meadhros?"
"Look. It is the sons of Elwing." *~
*****
"Arwen? Are you all right?"
She looked up to see Glorfindel standing over her shoulder, looking worried. It was very late, and Arwen had not left the hearth for many hours. Her cheeks were bright red and boiling to the touch. She had neither eaten nor had anything to drink in quite a long while. It took all her will to nod, and say, "I am all right, Glorfindel, thank you."
"I do not think you are, if I may say so," he replied, taking a seat beside her. "What are you thinking about?"
"About my mother," Arwen said in a hollow voice, "and the first time I was without her."
~* Arwen jumps from branch to branch, trailing her friend Jorion, chasing after him. She giggles as he manages to stay always just out of her reach. As they come upon their homes, Arwen sees Celebrían mount her horse. "Mother!" she cries, jumping down from her high perch and leaving Jorion on his own. She rolls a bit, picking herself up and running to her mother. "Are you going riding? Where are you going? May I go with you?" she demands, firing off one question as soon as the last is out of her mouth.
"Slow down, Arwen," Celebrían says, amused. She lifts Arwen into her lap for a moment. "No, you cannot come, I am going to visit my mother in Lothlorien and you are much too small for the journey. We shall see each other again when I return, and it will not be long, I promise. Ada and I told you about this, remember, two weeks ago?"
Arwen thinks back. She does remember, vaguely, her mother and father saying something to her at supper one evening, but she only replied as she thought was fit; she was not truly listening to them. Now she wishes she had been; she throws her arms around her mother and cries out, "Please, Mother, don't go, I promise to be very, very good if you stay!"
"Arwen!" Celebrían exclaims. "I am coming back, child, I will only be gone for two months!"
"That's practically for ever, please let me go with you, or better, you could stay here!"
"Please, Arwen, I must go to my mother, but I cannot go if I know you are in such a state. Will you be all right here?"
Arwen understands, on some level, that her mother has to go, and that she is being inconvenient in holding her up. It is not a neglectful sort of thing that Celebrían does, but she cannot be expected to remain in Imladris all her life with her parents else, and it has been many years since she last saw the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. "Yes, Mother," Arwen promises, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.
"Good. Fare well, then." Celebrían hugs her daughter fiercely.
"Namaarie, Mother," Arwen says, returning the hug. When Celebrían draws back, she sets Arwen on the ground with one final kiss, and is off.
Elladan and Elrohir pull Arwen off Jorion ten minutes later, as she tries to beat him up, fists flying. "I only tried to be nice," he says, straightening his tunic. "I only meant well, see if I ever speak to you again!" And he strides off.
"What happened, Arwen?" Elladan asked.
She turned slowly to face him, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and shouted, "I want my mother!" *~
*****
TBC